


Better Days

by iduna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iduna/pseuds/iduna
Summary: It's been two years since Bryce and Eleanor Cousland's murder. Sometimes it's hard and you need someone that loves you to help.





	Better Days

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to theCelticMyst for doing the Beta on this. She's great, you should check her stuff out.

Alistair spent the better part of two hours looking for his bride. Well, to be fair, they had been married for about 6 months, but to him, Sophia Cousland would always be his bride. When he found her, she was on the crenellated walls of the Denerim Palace, looking down upon the city. Clutched in her hand was a locket, with pictures of Eleanor and Bryce Cousland. As he approached, she looked up and he saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks.

He sat down behind her, arms wrapped around her torso, and pulled her to rest on his chest. She made almost no sound, but he could feel the sobs shake her body.

“Bad day, my Love?” he asked. “Can I help, or do you want me to just sit with you?”

“It was two years ago today that Rendon Howe murdered my parents and destroyed my world, Ali. Two whole years…”

Alistair kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I didn’t know.”

She reached up to hold the arms of the man holding her. Until he showed up, she’d thought she wanted to be alone. Now she was glad she wasn’t.

“Last year, we had just finished dealing with the werewolves, and were heading to the Landsmeet. There wasn’t time to remember, but this year…” Another large sob wracked her body. “This year I just can’t stop thinking about it.”  She took several breaths to subdue the grief enough to allow her to speak.  “What would they think of me now? Would they be proud of me?  Would they be happy for me, for us?”

“Of course, they would. How could they not?” Alistair tried thinking of reasons they’d be proud. Not the usual ones that everyone would name, but those that would make her understand how special she was.

“You saved Ferelden from an Archdemon. You killed a lot of darkspawn. You proved yourself worthy to get the ashes of Andraste and save Eamon, but I suppose anyone could do that.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You managed to capture the heart and soul of a dashing royal bastard, and you’re turning him into a not terrible king, or so I’ve been told. Considering what you had to work with, I’d say they’d be proud of you for that.”

Sophie squirmed a little, and he loosened his grip enough for her to face him. “Alistair, you’d be a wonderful king, even if it weren’t for me.” She kissed him on the tip of his nose. “Everyone loves you.”

Alistair shook his head. “Nope, I would be a terrible king. We’d be overrun by Orlesians, and I’d never share the cheese at parties. It would be a disaster, my love, and you know it.”

Sophie hugged her husband, holding him close. It was warm and safe in his strong arms, and she felt less lonely with him at her side. “Orlais hasn’t tried to invade for thirty years, Alistair.”

“They invaded yesterday, all those Orlesian women with their stupid masks and stinky perfume.” Alistair raised his hand, indicating a vista taking place before him. “There you were, ball gown immaculate, Sir Drool, bravely by your side as they swooped in like the vanguard of an invading army.

“With only floral arrangements and wit, you vanquished the enemy without even breaking a nail.”

Alistair leaned over and whispered in her ear. “I was cowering in the corner, in fear for my life and my cheese, but you stood your ground. I was so proud of you.”

“You silly man,” Sophie laughed. “It was a garden party, not an invasion.  I didn’t stand my ground, I served tea and cakes. Then they went home.”

“It could have been an invasion. We’ll never know now because you handled it so remarkably.”

She laughed again, a bright twinkling sound, like water skipping over stones.

“Twenty women and their lapdogs are nothing like an Archdemon, Ali.” She kissed him again.

“Of course not. They are far, far scarier,” he said, hand to his heart in mock horror. “You will have noticed that the archdemon never tried to take on twenty women and their lapdogs.  I shudder just to think of the chaos had you not been here to defend us.”

He stood gracefully and held his hand out to help her up. “I’m sorry, my love, but you have another Orlesian to vanquish.” Alistair winked at Sophie. “Eamon and Isolde are dining with us this evening.”

“Oh, Balls…” she exclaimed. “They aren’t bringing that dust mop, are they? I’d let Drool eat him but he’s nothing but a yapping pile of hair.”

She leaned back and laid her head on Alistair’s shoulder. “This is going to sound very non Ferelden of me Ali, but I hate that dog.”

He kissed the top of her head. “That, my sweet, is not a dog. It’s a large rat, and as king, you have my permission to hate it all you like.

“Maybe, you can do your impression of Isolde, and they’ll leave that much faster. TEEGUN,” Alistair said in a falsetto. “HOO IZ DIZ WOOMAN TEEGUN?? She hates that.”

“More emphasis on the ZZZZZ sound, honey,” Sophie corrected, as Alistair placed the locket back around her neck and slung her over his shoulder. “More ZZZZZ” 

Giggling, the two passed through the door. Behind them, unseen, were two spirits; hand in hand, smiling at the happiness of their only daughter and her husband.

Proud didn’t even begin to cover it.   

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I need to process the feels. It's the anniversary of my own father's death, and my mom has dementia and doesn't know who I am. Some days are better than others.


End file.
